The days run by;
time feels so fast.
Yet in moments like this,
thinking of you again,
time is ever so cruel.
I don't miss you,
because missing is also loving,
and I don't love you anymore:
But I've bluffed and lied before,
so I don't sound so sure of myself.
I'm not an addict;
I promise I'm sober.
I'm no longer high from your presence—
you've been gone for too long now,
I'm sure I've gone through withdrawals already.
Distance seemed like so much then,
now I thank the miles for their existence.
Because I never wrote poems based on my infatuation for you,
and I'm glad I didn't as I write this farewell.
I let love be forced,
so love forced me out.
I'm glad I can smile without resentment,
as I wish you the best,
and realize you weren't the one.
YOU ARE READING
𝗣𝗼𝗲𝘁 𝗠𝗲 𝗔 𝗣𝗼𝗲𝗺
Poetrya collection of letters, poems, and short stories from deep within, a little addiction with it too; welcome to the emotions of the awkward teenage time we all once had.
